


If Walls Could Talk

by thebloodydamnqueen



Category: Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children (2016), Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children - Ransom Riggs
Genre: Abuse, Dark Past, Dissociation, Enoch needs a hug, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Past Child Abuse, Romance, Self-Harm, enolive, slightly dark!olive, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-10 04:05:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11119548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebloodydamnqueen/pseuds/thebloodydamnqueen
Summary: Enoch doesn't remember the exact day that Olive walked into his life, just that things haven't been the same since.~I'm thinking damn if these walls could talk~ inspired by Halsey's "Walls Could Talk" about everyone'e favourite pyromaniac and her necromancer.





	1. Olive's Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This fic is based on MOVIEVERSE Olive and Enoch. They are both in their late teens and may continue to age up depending on where I see the story going. As of now, Enoch:17 and Olive:15. It is also a slowburn Enolive fic so if you aren't a fan of the pairing, don't read! I'm excited to be writing again as I haven't in about a year so forgive me if the writing is rusty! Thank you! :)

He couldn’t really remember the day that she showed up at Miss. Peregrine’s. He knew it was midsummer and the storm outside had left her crimson hair plastered to her face like blood. The clock had only just been reset an hour beforehand and the rest of the children were already abed when he saw her step into the warmth of the front entryway. His arms were full of jars and he dismissed this new arrival without much more than the first glance. He had only made it halfway up the stairs when he was called back.

“Hello, Enoch,” the soft voice whispered. There were cracks in the voice, most likely from crying recently, he deduced, and the soft upturn at his name was clearly hopeful. He turned sharply with a glare on his face.

“Bit rude to be so informal when we’re strangers, isn’t it?”

The girl had shrunk back from the harshness in his tone but he watched as the tiny muscles in her jaw worked and her feet shifted under her to replant herself. His eyebrow rose slightly, amused that she wasn’t as easily frightened as she had appeared.

“Well then,” her smile looked odd on her pale face as she spoke, “I’ll introduce myself, my name is Olive Abroholos Elephanta. And you’re Enoch- “

“O’Connor,” he finished for her, his eyes now raking over her form, reproachful and calculating as he took in the challenge of her. She was not easily frightened off and he found his interest piqued by the strength that such a small person as her seemed to carry. He turned once more to leave, and found the girl, _Olive_ , he reminded himself, following close behind.

“If you refuse to bugger off I might as well show you around then,” he sighed, refusing to look back at his shadow as he continued to climb. Olive said nothing in response but quickened her pace to match his long strides until he could feel the warmth of her body half a step behind his right side.

After a few minutes of showing her the upstairs and having her drop her things off into a small room at the start of the hall, well away from his own, he had managed to get himself cornered into the kitchen with her asking questions as he tried to move around to the entrance once more.

“Won’t you tell me a bit about yourself, Enoch? I feel like I’ve done all the talking tonight,” Olive implored, smiling eagerly at him.

Enoch was unnerved by the girl as she continued to pester him. She had, in fact, been the one to talk his ear off all evening, the stream of questions and small anecdotes wearing away at his patience until he finally sat at the table across from her in a huff.

“Fine,” he snapped, waving a hand for Olive to sit at the table with him. “A little bedtime story, yeah?”  
Olive slipped into a chair eagerly, pushing her damp hair away from her face and tucking it off to the side as she continued to play and braid the strands. Enoch found his eyes caught up in the small movements, certain he could see small sparks dancing between the strands of hair and her fingertips.

“Enoch?”

He started at being caught watching her and straightened up in his chair, a nervous hand running through his own dark curls.

“Once upon a time there was a little boy named Enoch,” he began and watched as Olive leaned forward, entertaining his play at storytelling. “I was about seven years old when I discovered my peculiarity. The economy was bad, people were getting sick all the time, and my parents made a great deal of money working in their funeral home. One day, I ventured into the preparation room and found the body of a boy a few years older than me, William. William had drowned in the river not a week before and had never paid much attention to me in school. Getting close, I placed my hand on his chest and imagined what it must have been like for William to drown, kicking and reaching for a surface he would never reach. And suddenly, on the table, William began to twitch and dance under my hand.” Olive gasped but otherwise kept quiet so he continued, “I could feel his heart beating erratically and the sudden stop when I pulled my hand back. I told no one. But at night, I started sneaking down to the funeral home to see how long I could make the bodies dance. I found a dead cat in the sewers where we discarded bodies that were never identified, and took the heart watching as it started beating in my hand as I willed it. Soon I began my collection of hearts, small and large, from any dead thing I could get my hands on. But there’s one very special heart in my collection, Olive, would you like to know what it is?”

Olive had become more and more uncomfortable throughout the story and now sat pale-faced across from him with her mouth slightly open. Enoch chuckled darkly, taking her silence as agreement.

“Mother got very sick one winter, some variation of TB that took her within a month. Father couldn’t bear it, but I, I saw the potential, Olive. I could bring her back. I carried her body to the operating table and opened her up to take her sickly heart out. I had brought nearly my entire collection of hearts with me, and slowly I began finding places for them, connecting tissue and vessels as best as my little fingers could. I was covered to the elbows in her blood and her heart sat fermenting in one of my jars as I bent over to start to stich her up again.That was when father found me,” Enoch stopped suddenly, breathing harshly as he wondered how much farther he was willing to share.

“Oh Enoch, I’m so sorry,” Olive whispered, reaching for his hand across the table.

“Fuck your pity, Olive! I don’t want it,” he growled, pulling his hand away from her fingers. A silence fell over the two of them, as Olive stayed frozen with her hand still reaching for him. Enoch shook his head and tilted his head up to the ceiling, suddenly unable to keep her gaze.

“I still have the heart, you know,” he whispered.

“Your mother’s?”

Enoch nodded and pushed back from his chair, making to run into the safety and darkness of the hallway again. His oversharing had cost him a great deal of energy and he was thoroughly pissed that the story had done little to frighten Olive off. If anything she seemed more interested in being near him. He made note not to repeat this error in judgement again.

As he moved towards the door he heard the sharp scrape of Olive’s chair as she stood to follow him back upstairs. Setting his shoulders, he made certain to ignore her even as he heard her sigh from behind him as he passed by her door without so much as a glance back.

“I burnt my house to the ground, Enoch.”

Enoch stopped midstride, listening.

“Everyone was inside, and I was the only one the fire didn’t touch. I remember standing outside staring up at the house. People were screaming, frantically trying to put the fire out. I think people were asking me questions but all I could think was how pretty the flames looked against the night sky. I was en-route to an asylum when Miss Peregrine interfered and brought me here instead. I kept the key to the house…” her voice trailed off as he turned towards her. He watched as she fiddled with the small key on the metal chain around her neck. She had a faraway look in her eyes as she smiled sadly at him.

“I know what it’s like to have people look at you like you’re a demon, Enoch.”

Enoch nodded slightly, a grim set to his face as he turned back towards his room.

“Tomorrow, if you promise to not touch anything until I can get a handle on those flames, you may watch me build my homunculi,” he offered, shocking both himself and Olive.

“You mean; you want to spend tomorrow with me?”

Flustered, Enoch wrenched open his door. “Do whatever the fuck you want, Olive. I don’t really care.”

He didn’t see the way Olive’s face lit up, and he didn’t remember when Olive arrived at Miss Peregrine’s, but he knew that day had been one that had changed everything.


	2. Getting Used to Each Other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first few days after Olive's arrival are awkward for both Olive and Enoch. Olive stays determined to break Enoch's walls down as he unwittingly begins to allow a little light into his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, and thank you to anyone that has been reading this! I appreciate any kudos or comments!

The weeks that followed that first meeting would always be fondly remembered by Olive as the most horrifically awkward days in all her time with Enoch. Despite his constantly miserable attitude he occasionally showed moments of joy, quickly snuffed out once he noticed someone was paying attention, and Olive always was, but there nonetheless.

Her first day with him started at the brink of dawn as a small girl named Claire knocked on her door before creeping to her bedside.

 “Hullo missus Olive,” the girl whispered, poking her small face above the frame of Olive’s beside. Olive smiled and reached out towards the girl before sharply pulling her hand back, remembering the damage she could cause as a small flame burst from her palm.

 “Oh!” Claire exclaimed in wonder, “what lovely magic you have missus Olive! Can you make the flame bigger?”

Olive sat up in bed and stared at the child as Claire watched the flame bounce and crackle from her palm. This was not the reaction she had expected; everyone she had known reacted in horror at the flames that seemed to explode from her at times. She was a freak, _peculiar_ _dear, not a freak,_ she remembered Miss Peregrine telling her as she walked Olive into the house the night before. But the child in front of her didn’t seem to care one way or another whether it was odd that Olive could summon the flames, but shuffled impatiently in front of her waiting for Olive to make the little spark grow.

“Bigger? Well of course I can!” Olive smiled, cupping both of her hands together to make a large ball of flame between her palms.

 “Oh it’s so lovely! You can start the fires at night, and help cook the supper, and boil the tea, we won’t even need the stove anymore and- “

 “Claire! That’s quite enough of that,” a dark voice snapped from the doorway.

 Claire turned around growling… _from the back of her head?_ Olive pushed the blankets away and stepped forward, her hands hovering just above Claire’s shoulders as she glanced up at the intruder, and met with Enoch’s brooding dark eyes.

“Leave us alone, Enoch! It isn’t polite to enter a lady’s room you know,” Claire sniffed, sticking her tongue out at Enoch.

Enoch smirked slightly and bent down to Claire’s height to answer her, “Well, when you can show me a lady, I’ll be sure to knock beforehand. But alas, there’s just little girls here, Claire,” he laughed.

“I’m hardly a ‘little girl’, Enoch,” Olive replied sharply. “I’m fifteen years old – “

“And not a day older, forever, now that you’re here,” Enoch reminded her.

Olive rolled her eyes and urged Claire forward and out of her room ahead of her, making sure to brush her shoulder past Enoch’s on the way past.

* * *

 

Breakfast past by quickly as introductions were made by Miss Peregrine and Olive had nodded politely at everyone before ducking her head back down to finish her bowl of oatmeal. The quiet chatter of the dining room was a comfort to her after the weeks of her incarceration. No one bothered much to talk to someone everyone believed to be mad.

“Would you like to play with us outside today, Olive? Us girls could really use a new playmate,” Fiona asked from across the table, effectively changing the train of Olive’s somber thoughts.

Olive swallowed and smiled shyly at Fiona before casting a glance at Enoch; he was pointedly ignoring her as he scraped his own spoon back and forth against his empty bowl waiting to hear her response.

“I actually promised Enoch I would play with him today, but perhaps we could play a little later?”

The silence that filled the room would have envied that of the dead. A few of the children were frozen, spoons poised comically between bowl and open mouth. Miss Peregrine raised an arched brow, a small smile pulling at her lips as she watched the children react to the revelation.

“Are you, I mean to say, are you quite sure that’s what you want?” Emma, the only other teenager asked quietly, casting a slightly alarmed look at Olive as she spoke.

“No what you mean to say Emma is: are you freaking insane? A whole day with Enoch? You have met the guy right?” Hugh’s bees flew out in a hoard from his mouth as he spoke.

“Now everyone, that is not kind. You all know how difficult it is for Enoch. A new friend would certainly- “

“We’re not friends, Miss,” Enoch cut across Miss Peregrine as he pushed his chair back, grabbing his bowl from the table with a sharp turn back towards the kitchen. “And she can spend the day with Fiona and the girls, I’ve no use for her anyways.”

Olive sighed and pushed her own chair back, taking her dishes with her as she moved towards the kitchen after him.

“Enoch? Enoch!” Olive called after him as she watched his back disappear into the cellar room.

When she caught up to him his hands were already full of jars that he balanced precariously between elbows and chin. Olive reached for one that Enoch seemed to be having a particularly hard time squeezing in with all the rest only to have him jerk back from her. The movement caused the jar to slip from his grasp and shatter against the corner of the table.

“God damn it!!” Enoch shouted and Olive immediately knelt down to grab the heart from the ground only to have her wrist captured by a tight fist.

“Just grab a jar from the cupboard, the formaldehyde is in my room, I’ll have to rinse this and inspect for damage now. For fuck’s sake, woman, what were you thinking?” Enoch snapped, carefully pulling the heart from the debris on the floor.

 “I was trying to help!” Olive snapped right back. “If you had just let me take the jar in the first place, it wouldn’t be shattered on the ground right now and we’d be perfectly happy upstairs playing.” She rounded the corner again, new jar in hand to find Enoch with his head in his hands, shaking.

 “Enoch?” Olive felt instantly guilty as she knelt down with him reaching for his shoulder to comfort him. But as she got closer she realized the shaking wasn’t from tears, but laughter.

 Enoch’s dark head snapped up sharply as he laughed bitterly taking the jar from Olive and placing the heart inside. Olive shrugged uncomfortably away from him as he started picking the pieces of glass up off the floor.

“Do you really think it will make me _happy_ to play with you?” Enoch asked suddenly.

 Olive flushed with embarrassment at his question. Of course, this was _Enoch_ after all. Nothing seemed to make him happy no matter how hard she tried to be helpful and kind to him. Still, she held onto the hope he had given her from the night before. He might not be friendly, or even tolerable at the moment, but he had been vulnerable with her. Something she was sure didn’t happen very often, if ever. She wanted to hold onto that as long as she could, keep working at that softness in his heart that she had seemed to unwillingly pull from him until he really would consider them friends. She couldn’t help herself from wanting this selfish thing for herself, this relationship with him that no one else seemed to bother building. He was an enigma, her Enoch, and one that she fully intended to solve.

“Maybe not today,” she found herself agreeing with him as she helped clean up the last bit of the broken jar and followed him up the stairs. _Not today, but one day._

* * *

 

Enoch barely kept track of anything anymore, what was the point when you relived the same day over and over again? But he did keep track of how long Olive had been visiting him. The first few days had been awful, and he had almost given up on the whole idea of having an assistant, _not a friend_ , he pointedly reminded himself every time he found himself missing her company. He had to remember he missed the _convenience_ of her, not the girl herself. But she had nearly wrecked that all on her own; dropping a total of six jars within the first week she had come to help him in his lab. Her peculiarity was another problem all on its own. While she had a decent amount of control over it she was also highly emotionally reactive, a fact he learned the hard way when she had burnt her hand print into his desk the first time she saw one of his dolls come to life.

_“Oh shoot! Enoch, I’m so sorry!” she had cried out as she pulled her hand back from the charred wood of his desk with a look of absolute horror._

_“Suppose you should write your name beneath it like a true vandal if your marks going to stay,” he had grumbled at her as he doused the spot with water._

_She had laughed at that, though he hadn’t meant it as a joke. She seemed to be taking his jabs a lot less seriously the more time she spent with him, it unnerved him to not be able to get a reaction from her as often._

 When he had given her the black rubber gloves to prevent such things from happening again she had mistaken the gesture entirely. Her preposterous assumption that he was giving her a present had resulted in an altogether over-the-top reaction of gratitude from her. She had put them on immediately, small dimples in her cheeks standing out prominently as her smile stretched wide across her face. She had reached towards his desk first, marvelling at how she could run her hands against the old scar of her handprint and see no new flames ignite in the wood. And then she had done something completely unexpected and reached for his hands, squeezing them without any fear of harming him.

_“Oh Enoch,” she had whispered brokenly. Her eyes had glistened with tears when she looked back up at him and he squeezed her hands back slightly, alarmed at her response._

_“Olive?”_

_“This is the greatest gift anyone has ever given me. I-I haven’t been able to – contact was too dangerous – I can touch you!!” she had exclaimed happily._

Enoch still wasn’t sure why she had thought this to be such a monumental thing. He was hardly comfortable with anyone touching him but found, after the gift of the gloves had occurred that Olive was more than happy to cross those boundaries.

 Even now, as they walked along the coast on their daily walk with the rest of the children, Olive was absentmindedly picking at the loose strands along the arm of his sweater; her other hand firmly clasped by little Claire as she skipped along beside them.

“If you pick at it much more I won’t have any fabric left to this sweater, Ollie,” he grumbled, tugging the sweater from her grasp and focusing his gaze on the sea ahead of them.

Olive giggled softly from beside him but otherwise left him alone for the time being, seeing him lose focus on the world in front of him as some memories or thoughts clouded his mind. For his part, Enoch focused more on the revelation that he had now placed a childish nickname on his assistant. He had noticed Claire turn towards them when he had used it and mentally chastised himself for allowing himself to slip up in such a way. Claire was not likely to let such a thing go, and he could only imagine the teasing he would face from Hugh and Millard once this secret was exposed. He sighed, frustrated, and only barely managed to notice the little blonde head of Claire bouncing on ahead of Olive and himself.

“You know she won’t- “

“I’m well aware of the mischief Claire will get up to, Olive.”

 Olive sighed beside him and stepped ahead to be able to walk backwards and face him while she spoke.

“She doesn’t mean any harm, besides, I can talk to her, tell her you aren’t comfortable with her sharing that, tell her she imagined it- “

“Imagined it? She’s seven years old, not stupid, Olive,” Enoch said dismissively. “Whatever, really. Let them say what they want, they won’t catch me saying it again.”

Olive glanced away from him, her expression troubled for a moment before she brightened up again. She playfully pushed at his shoulder, her pace quickening as she made to turn away from him. 

“You’re it, Enoch!!” she yelled as she ran from him and the rest of their housemates scattered, shrieking.

 Knowing he was trapped in the stupid, childish game Enoch swore to make Olive pay for it later. Perhaps have her scrub his work table of the blood from their most recent battle? Seemed fair to him, even as he forced the small smile back that threatened to push past his walls when he caught sight of Olive being scooped up by Bronwyn as he began to give chase. _She would pay indeed when he caught her._

 

 

 


	3. Tethered Here With You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! Thank you to anyone that has left comments and kudos on this story! I'm really enjoying writing it and I'm glad people seem to be enjoying reading it!!

       Enoch heard her scream before he saw her fall; but once his eyes found the crumpled pink dress down the hill and the unmoving girl that it covered his legs tugged him forward even as his heart leapt into his throat, _Olive._

The other children had already gathered around her when he reached the foot of the hill and he came crashing into the backs of Horace and Millard, shoving them aside in his desperation to see her, make sure she was breathing. He choked slightly at the sight that met him as the rest of the children stepped back to let him get closer to Olive. She was unconscious, but breathing. Her forehead was split and congealing blood left her skin sticky to the touch as he moved to bring her head carefully into his lap, pushing the auburn strands away so he could get a better look at the damage inflicted. When he was satisfied she could be mended he let out the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding, his anxiety releasing his chest and a different kind of tightness taking root in his chest.

      “Will she be okay, Enoch?” Claire whispered brokenly, her little lip quivering in her attempt to be brave in the situation.

      “Horace, can you take the younger ones back with you and get Miss Peregrine, please?” Emma instructed, kneeling down beside Enoch, reaching to place a hand on his elbow. “Enoch- “

       Enoch shrugged Emma off roughly, his face a black mask of fury as he tugged a dingy handkerchief from his pocket and began to dab at the clots on Olive’s forehead. His eyes caught on to Hugh, the one who had been with her before she fell, and pierced the boy with a glare that had him sputtering and waving his arms in front of himself in a desperate attempt to rid himself of the guilty sentence Enoch had placed on his shoulders.

      “We-we were just messing around; I swear I didn’t mean to bump into her! I tripped on the football and before I knew it she was rolling down the hill and – “

      “And you nearly KILLED her, you stupid, reckless, dim-witted, son-of-a-fucking- “

      “Enoch! That’s enough!” Emma snapped. “Being horrid to Hugh is not going to make this situation any better.”

      “Well, **I** feel better, Emma. I don’t really give a damn how Hugh feels and as you can see Olive’s just peachy.”

      “I’m really sorry,” Hugh wiped at his face, smearing the snot and tears that had formed under Enoch’s tirade and turned sharply, running up the hill to catch up with the others his bees trailing along behind.

       Emma took a deep breath to begin her lecture on “harmful emotional outbursts” when Olive groaned from her place in Enoch’s lap. She watched with shocked curiosity as Enoch’s entire demeanor seemed to shift sharply. The anger was still there, simmering under the surface, but there was a softness to his movements and an almost heartbroken gleam entered his eyes as they dropped from their glare at Emma towards Olive’s pale face.

      “Olive? Ollie, can you hear me? It’s Enoch,” he murmured to her, one hand continuing to stroke her hair back, the hand holding the handkerchief pausing in its movements across her forehead.

      Olive’s eyes opened slowly but found Enoch’s easily, a small smile breaking across her face, even as she grimaced in pain. Emma felt immediately awkward watching the small exchange between the two as Enoch bent closer to answer Olive’s murmured questions. It had been nearly five years since Olive had first walked into the home, and for five years it seemed she had worked her way past the hard external shell of Enoch O’Connor, if only for brief moments like this, and Emma felt as though she was peeping in on something entirely more intimate than one friend comforting another. Neither seemed to remember that she was there until Olive tried to sit up and Emma instinctually reached to help steady her.

     “Oh!” Olive’s face flushed delicately but she took hold of Emma’s hands and allowed the other girl to help her stand, not seeing the annoyed look Enoch cast Emma’s way over her shoulder. Olive swayed suddenly and cried out, lifting her left leg up painfully.

    “Olive!” Emma caught hold of the girl as she swayed forward, losing her balance.

    “My ankle, it can’t hold any weight,” Olive gasped out, her eyes blinking to keep tears at bay.

      A sharp shriek from the sky above the children signalled Miss Peregrine’s arrival as she swooped low to land in front of them her posture a mixture of concern and disapproval.

     “Now, what’s this I hear of a tumble? Are you alright, Olive dear?” she asked, stepping forward to take a better look at Olive. She was unsurprised to see Emma supporting her friend but kept her opinions of Enoch’s hands supporting her waist carefully off of her face. She made mental note to speak with him about that later, for now she was less than pleased with his harsh treatment of Hugh although she was beginning to piece together the greater reason behind his rage.

    “M’fine, Miss Peregrine. I just slipped and fell, I really didn’t mean to be such a bother to everyone,” Olive managed, hopping slightly to readjust her weight on her good leg.

   “Hush, Hugh’s the one should be apologizing for all this, and mark my words Olive he will have hell to pay once I get my hands around his skinny neck and- “

   “ **Enoch**!”

   Olive glanced up at Miss Peregrine, an embarrassed blush climbing her neck as she ducked her head.

   “Begging your pardon, Miss., I didn’t mean to interrupt you. But Enoch,” she turned back towards him, “It really wasn’t Hugh’s fault. I just lost my footing, and I don’t want you hurting our friend on my behalf.”

    “Miss Elephanta is quite right, Enoch. I am extremely disappointed in your acute lack in tact towards the matter at hand. I understand that Olive is a special friend to you, however, that does not give you the right to treat the others in such a manner. It will be my expectation that you will apologize upon our return. “

    Enoch stepped back suddenly, hands leaving Olive’s waist so that she fell back on her butt in front of him. Olive could see from the shade of purple his cheekbones were turning that he was thoroughly humiliated by Miss Peregrine’s words.

   “Enoch- “Olive began, knowing at once that another outburst was dancing on his tongue.

   “Get your own clumsy ass home then, Olive. I don’t know why I ever bothered with you anyways,” Enoch snapped, marching himself up the hill.

    “Mr. O’Connor! _Mr. O’ Connor!!_ Oh, that boy!” Miss Peregrine sighed, making to turn back into her bird form. “You girls have fifteen minutes to make it back home and then we will care for that cut and ankle. In the meantime, I will be having words with Mr. O’Connor about his behaviour as of late. Oh dear,” Miss Peregrine wiped a long, finely manicured finger under Olive’s eyes as she sniffled. “He will come around, and you know it.” With that, she took to the skies, leaving Olive and Emma to half-hobble home together.

 

* * *

    Olive was hiding from the midday sun, seated quietly under the large branches of the solid oak she leaned against, a worn copy of _Romeo and Juliet_ perched in her lap. She had braided her bright red locks into pigtail braids, a few wisps escaping with the gentle September wind that fluttered the pages as she continued to read the comforting phrases even as her head throbbed in protest.

    “You really shouldn’t be reading when your head is still recovering, you know,” Enoch’s voice carried to her as he made his way across the grass towards the tree. He looked decidedly boyish in the sun, the shadows of his dark hair and eyes stark against his pale skin. The shadows around his eyes were more prominent, she noticed, he hadn’t slept much lately.

    “Didn’t think you gave a damn, one way or another,” she found herself snapping at him. She winced when he stopped just a few feet in front of her, his jaw working as he fought to control his temper.

    “I’m sorry if I gave you the impression of caring then,” he growled turning on his heel to walk back towards the house.

     Standing, Olive braced a hand against the tree as her head swam with vertigo. She took a deep breath and hurried her steps along until she crashed into his back, wrapping her arms around his middle to steady her physically and emotionally.

    “Wait, Enoch, I’m sorry. That was terribly rude of me,” she whispered to his rigid back. “Please come and read with me awhile, you’re right, my eyes are starting to hurt from it.”

     A sigh left Enoch as he turned and pulled her body under his arm to support her as he walked her back. Once they reached the tree Olive leaned against the tree and slid down into the grass again. Settling, she pulled her discarded book towards her again and glanced up at the uncomfortably brooding boy standing above her.

   "How’s your ankle doing?” he asked abruptly.

    Olive knew better than to be shocked at his return to his inquiry on her welfare. From the tense set of his shoulders she could tell the week they had spent apart had caused him just as much grief as it had on her. Still her heart beat a little faster and a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth at the realization that he had worried about her.

    “It’s a lot better now, mostly just stiff in the morning when I wake up but that’s going away now too. Miss Peregrine thinks I just slightly sprained it, nothing too major. My head on the other hand- “

   Enoch had been nodding along quietly but he exhaled sharply then, “You have a small concussion is what I was told.”

   Olive raised an eyebrow at him, “You asked about me?”

   Enoch glanced away and crossed his arms defensively, “I can’t very well have an assistant that isn’t in perfect condition. I needed to know what we would be working with.”

  “I see,” Olive replied, beaming at him. His mouth twitched slightly, his version of a small smile she had come to learn, as he sat down tiredly beside her.

  “Maybe you should rest your eyes awhile? Just until the day cools off? It gets so warm in your room after lunch time. After tea we could work on the new creation, the, uhm, walking heart was it?”

  “The one you designed? As few ‘body parts’ as possible to create a ‘walking heart’?” Enoch glanced at her questioningly.

   Olive nodded, happy he remembered the one she was talking about. They had tried on numerous occasions to bring her design to life and despite their failings Enoch still hadn’t given up on her idea.

  “’Suppose we could,” he shrugged, making to lay down against the base of the tree.

   “You could rest your head on my lap you know,“ Olive offered shyly. Enoch raised his gaze to her and her breath caught, expecting a sharp refusal or some _I don’t need your pity, Olive_ , type of comment, but none came. Instead he waited for her to lift her arms to allow him to slip into the space between the book in her hands and her lap. Olive slowly released her breath and placed the book beside her again, her hands hovering, unsure of what to do now that his head was cradled in her lap.

   Cracking an eye open, Enoch flushed slightly and crossed his arms over his chest, a slight smirk crossing his face at her awkwardness. Olive set her hands into the grass, playing with the strands between her fingers.

  “Tell me a story, Ollie,” Enoch yawned.

  “What kind of story would you like?”

  “One about you, stupid. From when you were little, with your parents…” Enoch’s voice dropped off as he watched a kind of sadness pass over Olive’s features.

  “You mean before-the-I mean-before- “

   A hand enclosed Olive’s own gloved hands as she realized she had pulled out large clumps of grass from beneath her. Enoch grimaced at the heat of her gloves but held on tightly bringing her hand to his chest carefully so she could feel the beat of his heart and the careful breaths he took to calm her. Within a few moments Olive was breathing normal again, the scalding heat of her hands cooling to their familiar warmth.

 “I’m sorry, Olive. I didn’t realize that was still affecting you like that,” Enoch started, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.

  “It-it’s not your fault. I like talking about my childhood, it’s just been an emotional few days for me with everything that’s been happening, that’s all.” Olive smiled down at him but left her hand over his heart even as he pulled his hand from her grasp, smiling apologetically.

  “I know how hard touch is for you Enoch, so thank you for that and this.”

  Enoch nodded, “It’s important for you to feel close, and if I’m honest, your touch isn’t always unpleasant.”

  It wasn’t exactly a compliment, since it seemed her touch was unpleasant to him at times, but they were working on that. They both made sacrifices for each other’s comfort when things became too overwhelming. Olive had given him space to find control of his emotions, and he, in turn, regulated her free-falling anxiousness with small doses of touch. She let him loose and he always helped to keep her from floating too far away; it was one of her favourite things about them, this little unspoken understanding. It kept her sane on days when the world spun and her past wrenched her from the reality she enjoyed and threw her to the void of spacelessness that she sometimes inhabited.

  Her thoughts were disturbed by the small snore that rumbled its way through Enoch’s chest and she was startled to find her fingers had woven their way into his thick, curly hair. She chuckled softly at the small braid she had started and tugged the strands gently loose from each other. Enoch sighed beneath her and she glanced up at the sky again letting her thoughts take her away for a moment while her hands stayed rooted in the dark hair that kept her grounded.

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Enoch? Is Everything Alright?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! Thank you so much to anyone reading, leaving kudos, and comments! I really appreciate them all! I'm curious to see if anyone has a preference to how much back story is provided for each of the individual characters? This chapter focuses mainly on Enoch, and gives a glimpse into his life before coming to Miss Peregrines! There is a TRIGGER WARNING for this chapter as it details abuse, self harm, and some mental illness issues like panic attacks and dissociative disorder. So please, take care of yourselves if that's a no-go for you!

Enoch struggled to face anything of his horrific past; the effects the direct reason for his macabre spirit and dark wit. In the time he had been alive, he had carefully crafted walls to keep the darkness that had crept into his soul hidden. His peculiarity made this difficult and was the only element of himself that he reasoned was simply destined to be gruesome. The rest he kept carefully to himself behind fortified walls of sarcasm, malice, and isolation. However, the sleepless nights that came with so much pent up emotion occasionally got the better of him. Those nights when there was too much suppressed within him, his heart rate would accelerate, his vision would go blurry, and the rage, the burning black pain reared its ugly head on his world until there was nothing left to destroy; be it object, animal, or person. It was the reason he had been asked to leave the other loop. There had been an ‘incident’ in his 1901 loop that he could barely recall despite how hard he tried to remember. All he remembered was the trigger; the words that had left that soft mouth as she walked away from him before the awful black part of his soul took over.

_“I’ve had enough, Enoch, I can’t stand you anymore! I’m leaving…”_

_Abandoned. Unwanted. Unlovable. Monster. Freak. Devil Spawn._

His father had been an unkind man on the best of days during his young life. And the loss of Enoch’s mother, Louise, had left him in an even darker place. He dragged his son to this place with him and together they created a horrid, bloody world together.

_A twelve-year-old Enoch had crept as quietly as he could down to the preparation room, hoping to whatever God there might be that Papa had had enough to drink that night that he wouldn’t awaken when the bottom step inevitably creaked._

_The high pitched squeal of the last step had Enoch holding his breath, covering his mouth as he slowly let out the breath as silently as he could, his own heartbeat sounding deafening in the drowning silence of the night. When no rousing shouts could be heard Enoch carefully pushed his way into the room, huffing quietly as he moved the heavy wooden door._

_Everything had been so quiet since Mama had died, no more twinkling laughter to fill the dreary, wet, fall days with light. Mama was a month gone now and Enoch visited her every day, settling a new bunch of wildflowers on her grave before he sat to share his day with her. Papa had beat him the first time he saw him at the grave with the ‘filthy weeds’ but Mama had always loved those ones when she was alive, Enoch was sure of it._

_Now he was here to play, the day filling him with so much sadness that moving out of bed seemed an awfully large feat to ask of him. But at night, after everything was quiet again it was easier to move. There was something comforting about the stillness of the night, like time was frozen somehow and sometimes Enoch could almost pretend that he had gone back in time to when Mama might find him walking the halls and send him back to bed with a small kiss. He saw shadows around the corner that looked like her when the light caught the furniture just right, and that made the fantasy feel all the more real for him._

_Shaking himself of his fantasies he stepped into the preparation room and lit a few candles around the desk he used as his “work station”, shoving the sloppy charcoal coloured curls away from his tired eyes. Rolling up worn sleeves he moved carefully towards the keeping cellar, a sharp saw blade in one hand and candle in the other._

_He had never felt guilty for taking the hearts, as they were no longer any use to the dead, but there was something that itched at his soul as he carefully cut open the autopsy stitches to get at those his father had recently finished with. Thomas Moore had been one of Mama’s friends and had only survived the illness that had swept away Mama a few weeks longer than she had. It was he that Enoch intended to bring back tonight, to make him the knight in shining armour he had once promised Enoch he could have been for Mama and himself._

_“One day, Enoch, I’ll come for you and your Mama, and together we will all ride far, far away from here.”_

_But that day could never come now that it was just Enoch and Papa left, and Enoch ached for the man and his Mama even as he carefully stitched the stolen heart of a cow from the neighbouring farm into the man’s chest._

_“I miss you, Mr. Thomas,” Enoch whispered quietly._

_Mr. Thomas shuddered on the table and the heart beat a little too fast at first before settling into the regular rhythm that Enoch intended for it. The unseeing blue eyes opened slowly, blinking and adjusting as a low moan left the stale body. Hands twitched and stiff legs had spasms as the body of Mr. Thomas sat up and followed Enoch up the stairs. Once they arrived Enoch held out the sharp saw towards the dead man who took it with increased grace as Enoch strained to control the movements more precisely._

_Heaving a sigh, Enoch left Mr. Thomas waiting while he brought more men from the town to life for the battle. With great effort he had raised three other men, sweat breaking out across his forehead at the effort of moving something that had once held life. The homunculi were much more simple to control, less precise movements were needed and they almost developed what Enoch liked to call a ‘mind of their own’ with a small guiding intention being their only necessity. People, on the other hand, had once had a purpose when they were alive and learning to manipulate a body that was built for that purpose rather than Enoch’s own made raising the dead a great feat._

_Time had passed and the battle had quietly raged on as Enoch added some of his makeshift dolls to the mix, watching and cackling as they hacked at the ankles and knees of Mr. Thomas’ opponents of the evening. He had been having so much fun he hardly noticed the quick shuffle of feet on the stairs until it was far too late._

_“ENOCH O’CONNOR!!!”_

_The bodies dropped to the ground like puppets cut from their strings, landing precariously in heaps where the last twitches of life slowly left the bodies. Enoch froze in terror at being caught, mentally scolding himself for being so careless, so lost in his game, again. He turned and glanced over his shoulder carefully to see Papa glowering drunkenly at him from the hallway the bottle of whiskey sliding between his fingers. _

_“Papa, please I – I was just playing-“_

_“You call this playing?!” his father hissed wiping at his greasy face, pushing back curls that matched Enoch’s own. “God, what did I ever do to deserve this?” he asked suddenly._

_Enoch was puzzled at the quiet tone his father had used and allowed himself to take a few steps forward, hesitantly._

_“Papa?”_

_Papa brought the whiskey bottle across Enoch’s face before he could register the movement, the hard glass shattering against his jaw and the jagged remnants scraping the bruised skin. Gasping, Enoch struggled backwards, falling back and hastily shoving himself further back into the room._

_“Devil Spawn!! Your whore mother slept with the Devil himself to leave me with such an abomination! “Just playing’!!” Papa mocked horridly._

_“Don’t!! Don’t speak about Mama like that!!” Enoch screamed, spit and blood leaving his mouth even as he cowered away from his father’s looming shape._

_But Papa beat him all the same. Dragging the boy by his hair to the table, grinding his bruised cheek into the wood of the table as he tore the shirt from his back._

_“You’ll stay fucking still if you know what’s good for you, boy,” Papa hissed and Enoch shuddered knowing the belt was coming as he heard the tell-tale snick of his father loosening it off himself._

_Enoch tried not to scream as the metal clip of the belt bit into his back opening old and creating new wounds in the soft flesh of his back. Even as he struggled to stand in the slippery pool of his own blood his father continued to beat him until his vision blurred in front of him._

_“Keep your damn footing!!”_

_Enoch almost cried with relief when his father yanked his hair, snapping his head back as the work saw came into his foggy vision._

_“Should I put you out of your misery now, demon? Slit your throat here with all your other abominations?”_

_“Papa,” Enoch croaked, “I’ll stop, I’ll be a good boy, I promise, please, please, Papa.”_

_Enoch’s Papa dragged him through the blood and dirt, kicking him as his feet slipped out from under him and Enoch groaned softly, exhaustion and blood loss beginning to take their toll._

_Enoch remembered the freezing cold of the cellar floor under him as his father locked him in the dark of the keeping cellar._

_“Now you can really sleep among the dead, you filthy bastard child.”_

It was memories such as this that sometimes resurfaced in Enoch’s sleep, creating an endless nightmare of his father and the torture he had endured for the next five years of his life. Torture he had handled until he had run and found his first loop, and eventually his home with Miss Peregrine here, in his second loop. His trauma had horrid impacts on his sleep, he slept as little as he could to avoid the nightmares as long as possible, but this in turn made him irritable and isolated him from anyone who would have dared to call him a peer. That was until _she_ had come along. Enoch forced her name from his mind even as he started to pick up the pieces of broken glass and wood that surrounded him in his room.

Enoch hated when the dust settled after one of his ‘episodes’ as Miss Peregrine had come to call them; there was usually a lot of repair to do, but it kept him busy, rebuilding his world, and his walls around himself once more, hoping that this time they would be strong enough to keep the darkness at bay. But he found as a piece of glass stuck sharply to the skin of his finger that there was still some left dwelling in him. Carefully removing the glass from his sticky fingers he gently rolled the side of his sweater up, revealing the dozens of small scars that littered the side of his body. His back bore very little of the damage his father had inflicted over the years but the addiction Enoch had come to have for the physical pain had fuelled the creation of his series of scars along his hips. Enoch pressed easily into the skin above his waistband, dragging the glass swiftly along the area until the red welled up and he let out a soft hiss at the sharp pain of the new cut. Flicking the glass away, Enoch wiped at the silent tears that threatened to leave sandy tracks across his flushed cheeks. Sighing, he surveyed the damage of this episode.

A few jars were smashed to fine shards and the majority of his homunculi lay in haphazard heaps of broken doll pieces, animal parts and hearts. The scissors he used for incision were embedded in the wall and he frowned, worried about the damage they might have incurred during his rage. Stepping towards them he heard soft laughter bubble up to him through his still open window and he shrunk back in horror, realizing that anyone paying any sort of attention would have been able to hear his episode as it had happened. He found he was thrown by some invisible force towards the window a quiet voice in his head begging that she hadn’t been near, that she hadn’t been _in the house_ , _for fuck’s sake, anything but that._ Pulling the curtains back desperately, Enoch scanned the yard frantically searching for her. His head fell into his hands with a broken sob when he saw she was nowhere to be seen. The small relief he felt at discovering that none of the other children had heard him was nothing compared to the waves of panic that threatened to turn his stomach out at any moment. She couldn’t know, he had promised himself to keep this hidden from her. She didn’t need to see how dark it got in here when she wasn’t around. Didn’t know if he could handle another dose of rejection from someone he begrudgingly had to admit was getting close to him. He smacked his head sharply against the wall, gasping and rubbing the sore spot as panic took over and he rushed to clean up as much of the mess as he could, knowing it was coming. _She_ would be coming. His hand closed too fast on a broken jar and the glass sliced at his palm and he cried out, the pain no longer a release from the frantic dose of reality that was rushing in too fast on him.

“Son of a bitch!” he complained, nursing his hurt palm and looking for a rag to tie it up until he could deal with the cut later.

It was that moment he heard it, that soft knock on his half open door and the gentle creak of it giving way under the pressure of her hand. _Olive._

“Enoch? Is everything alright?”

 

 


	5. I Will Fix You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you to anyone who continues to read!! Had a bit of a busy week which resulted in a later update so I apologize! Thank you for the lovely comments and kudos! They are super appreciated and really brighten my day to read them :) Enjoy the new chapter!

The heat of the day had been the original reason why Olive had entered the house; but now as she moved towards the kitchen with Claire following closely behind she realized abruptly that she would not be returning to the garden with the younger girl. Above them, a great cacophony of violent noises echoed from the far corner of the house, above Enoch’s room.

“Livvie, is everything alright with Noch? He seems…angrier than usual,” Claire murmured softly, tugging at the sleeve of Olive’s pastel dress. Olive hushed the small child, patting her head gently as she bent down to Claire’s level, carefully keeping her own emotions in check even as her heart threatened to beat out of her chest.

“Everything is fine, Claire-Bear, I promise. But I need you to go outside again and just forget all about this, okay? You don’t need to be troubled by this, I’m sure Enoch- " 

A pained scream and the sound of breaking glass cut off the rest of Olive’s sentence and Claire’s eyes filled with tears as she shook in Olive’s grasp. Olive’s breath stuttered out of her as she blinked away her sympathetic tears and tried once again to comfort and reassure the girl in her arms.

“Like I was saying, Claire,” she gave the girl a small shake to regain her focus, “Everything is going to be just fine. You leave it to me, alright?”

Claire sniffled and reached to catch a tear that Olive hadn’t realized had fallen down her cheek, trying her best to force a smile for the older girl.

“Give him my love?” Claire asked quietly.

Olive smiled and brought the girl close, hugging her tightly, before turning her back towards the door outside, “Of course, my little love. Now go and play,” she urged.

Claire raced towards the doorway but caught herself on the edge of the frame, turning back towards Olive with a small grin on her face. “Give him your love too, Livvie. I think he would want it,” and with that she was gone leaving a blushing and flustered Olive to stare at the staircase at the end of the hall.

Olive took a deep breath to steady herself as she started the climb up the stairs to Enoch’s room. She felt an overwhelming sense of dread even as her stubborn desire to comfort urged her feet up the steps. The screaming had stopped at least, and that had seemed to be the worst of it. The wild, rage-filled hollering had shaken her to her core; Enoch never yelled like that. She had seen him spiteful, saw him like that quite a lot if she was honest with herself, and his tone was clipped then, words razor sharp with injury being their intention. She had seen him frantic, like when she had fallen down the hill and concussed herself a few months prior, and his voice was pitchy and his breathing made it hard for him to spit words out. She had even seen him happy on occasion, the smooth honeyed drawl of his accent becoming thicker as he whispered warm words of praise to her as she helped him work. But this, this was something new altogether. This was a broken and cornered sound; like a wounded animal. The rage was obvious but it was the hiccups of breath between them that alarmed her; anger was normal for Enoch, but he had never cried in all the years she had known him and he was very obviously crying now. Heavy, distraught sobs that pulled at her heart even as she registered the sudden silence that had entered the hallway with her.

 The sudden rush of movement in Enoch’s room was deafening in the silence that had surrounded them previously and she felt her breathing shorten as her anxiety increased. She heard the loud thump and the scratching of frantic feet on the wooden floors. Winced as though she too felt whatever hurt him when he cussed and hissed from the other side of the door. But it was the shaky intake of breath as she pushed the door open that sealed her resolve, Enoch needed her. 

“Enoch? Is everything alright?” she called as she urged the door open. It stuck suddenly, caught on some object and Olive put her shoulder against the door to force it the rest of the way open and was faced with the destruction of the room.

Jars were cracked or haphazardly strewn from one side of the room to the next, the room reeked of formaldehyde and blood and a chair lay splintered in the corner. The mess was nothing though compared to the shaking boy in the middle of it, clutching a dirty rag to his bleeding hand and staring at her like she was death come knocking.

“Enoch? Oh God, you’re bleeding! Come here and let me- “Olive began as she carefully picked her way across the glass-covered floor. Enoch seemed to register she was really there all of a sudden and rocketed back towards the wall, his eyes wild and one hand stretched above his face. He groaned and turned away from her, shoving his face in his hands.

“Enoch?” Olive whispered, lowering herself to the ground and crawling towards him carefully. She raised one gloved hand towards him tentatively, unsure if her touch was welcome to him so she hovered a moment, at a loss.

Enoch faced her then, his cheek smeared with the blood from his hand as he leveled a cautious glance her way. “Please leave, Olive,” he managed to croak out, his voice sounding overly strained from the yelling he had done.

Olive placed her hands in her lap and sighed, shaking her head slightly, “No.”

Enoch seemed surprised and pinched the bridge of his nose as he turned away from her again. An uncomfortable silence settled over the two of them for the first time in ages. Olive shuffled slightly and moved to take Enoch’s injured hand from him. He shook her hand off violently, turning with anger hardening his features. 

“Fuck. Off. Olive.” He hissed out and Olive glanced away quickly to hide the hurt she was feeling. Something was very wrong, she knew that; but Enoch was not in a place to tell her anything.

“No, Enoch,” she said again, more firmly grasping his hand as she pulled it into her lap to unwrap the rag. Enoch puffed his breath out, frustrated with her, but allowed her to unwrap his hand. As she worked to pick the broken glass from his skin she carefully kept her gaze down as she started to speak.

“I won’t ask you why you did this, because I know you won’t tell me anyways. But you will allow me to help you clean this mess up, you will allow me to clean and bandage your hand, _properly I might add by the way,_ and you will let me take care of you until this passes.”

Enoch hissed as a particularly large shard of glass left his palm and continued to glare at Olive, even as he nodded slightly.

“How much did you hear, Olive? I need… I need to know _exactly_ what you heard.”

Olive stood and tugged Enoch to his feet as she marched him out of his room and into the bathroom she shared with Emma down the hall. “You needed me, that’s all I heard.” Olive elected not to tell Enoch that Claire had also been with her, had heard some of what had happened before Olive made it up the stairs.

Enoch stopped abruptly and pulled Olive to a stop with him. “Olive,” he laughed darkly, “that’s not what I fucking asked and you know it. Don’t play sentimental with me right now.”

“I’m not playing at anything, Enoch, but fine. You were trashing the place like a man possessed and frightened the wits out of me. You were hollering and crying and – “

“I _wasn’t_ crying,” Enoch snapped. 

Olive laughed humorlessly as she stepped closer to him, raising a hand to brush at his still-wet cheeks. Enoch flinched slightly under her touch and she instantly pulled her hand back like she had burned him.

“So everything then, you heard everything,” he murmured mostly to himself, unable to meet her gaze.

“Enoch, whatever it is that’s made you like this, we will work through it. You don’t have to face this alone,” Olive whispered to him, stepping close enough that she could look up and meet his lowered gaze. She reached out and squeezed his arms in what she hoped felt like a reassuring embrace.

That seemed to set him off again though and he pushed her away harshly, tugging at his hair even as he thundered past her and into the bathroom. The sink rattled as he turned the faucet on too fast and the hot water scalded him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he groaned, hands shaking from the pain of the burn and the cuts in his skin. The pain seemed to clear his mind enough that he could address Olive again as she stepped into the bathroom after him, shutting the door behind them so they wouldn’t draw attention.

“You’re so fucking naïve, Olive, it’s disgusting. There is no “we” working it out! There never was, and never will be! I don’t want to share my problems with you and if you weren’t so bloody nosy we wouldn’t even be having this discussion right now!”

Olive wiped at her eyes as they stung from her frustration, “But that’s what people do when they care about each other, Enoch! They shoulder problems _together_! And I could help you, I know what it’s like to – “

“YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THIS IS LIKE, OLIVE!” Enoch shouted at her. “Not a damn clue, you lived in a happy little house with mummy and daddy and were loved and – “

“Oh fuck you, Enoch!! You _know_ that’s not true! You know _exactly what happened to me and how much I was ‘loved’”_ she screamed back at him, carelessly wiping at her burning face, ashamed that she had allowed her emotions to overwhelm her. Enoch winced slightly at her outburst even as he started to roll up his shirt for her to see.

Olive reached for his hands to stop him and gasped as his side came into view. The criss-crossing of scars that stretched from hip bone to ribs took her breath away. Some looked longer and deeper than others and she was momentarily lost as to what he could have used to cause such horrid markings until it dawned on her, _broken glass._ A single, fresh, red line was still weeping blood as he allowed her to look at him, his face unreadable. 

“Enoch,” she choked, “Why?”

Enoch huffed and shifted, tugging the shirt down again even as Olive set to work dampening a cloth and methodically moving towards him.

“Because I would rather hurt myself than make anyone else hurt as bad as I do, and I was so mad at you earlier, for ignoring me- “

“I wasn’t ignoring you!” Olive protested and was silenced by a look from Enoch as he glanced away from the bandage he was using to secure his hand.

“I’m used to being hated, Olive. And I got used to…to you, being there. And it pissed me off that I let you in like that. That you’re _close to me._ And I just, lost it I guess.” 

Olive paused in her movements and watched as her hand played with the fabric of the sweater she had started to lift again. “This…this is my fault?” She lifted the fabric of his sweater up, eyes losing focus as she took in the multitude of scars and felt the world start to slip out from beneath her.

“No, fuck, Ollie, no!” Enoch grabbed her face in his hands and shook her trying to get her eyes to focus on his as she trembled in horror in front of him. “I’ve been doing that for years, decades, well before you came to me. It’s not you, Ollie.”

Olive forced herself to listen to the words, process them, and start to breathe normally again. Slowly, her vision came swimming back as the overwhelming guilt and fear started to fade as she grasped what he was telling her. When she finally came back down from her panic Enoch was eyeing her warily but she refused to let his concern, or her own issues, distract her from what she needed to know.

“How long?”

“What?”

 “How long have you been…mutilating yourself like this, Enoch?” Olive took a breath as she attempted to read him despite the fact that her own head was swimming still.

“Since the 1901 incident,” Enoch murmured softly, his eyes betraying the vulnerability he felt at telling her this.

Olive nodded once and took his hands from her face, pulling his palms to her mouth as she pressed a light kiss to each one.

“No more, Enoch,” she whispered determinedly. “I know that the, the other stuff- “

“My episodes,” Enoch supplied helpfully.

“Your episodes,” Olive continued, “will take a long time to work through. Especially since I don’t know what happened in 1901, or anything of your past. But this,” she pressed light fingers against his side “this I know a lot about. This I can help you with, if you’ll let me.”

Enoch seemed to consider her carefully, and she held her breath at the intensity of his gaze. Emotions flicked across his face like static; distrust, apprehension, fear, anger, sadness, and a faint spark of hope that seemed to take root as his gaze burned into her.

“Alright, Ollie,” he whispered, squeezing her hands before dropping them as he led the pair back to his room again.

Olive smiled to herself and shook her head as she reached for his arm, placing her small hand at his elbow as he closed his eyes at his doorway. He seemed to take a moment to gather himself before looking down at her.

“Are you sure, Olive? You really don’t have to do this.”

Olive nodded as she moved into his room to pick up the splintered wood of the chair. “Yes, Enoch, I do. I – “she stopped suddenly, realizing how foolish she would sound if she admitted to him that she felt as though _she belonged there, in this darkness, with him._ But Enoch hardly seemed to notice she had stopped talking, seeming satisfied with her simple confirmation as he began working to salvage what was left of his jarred heart collection.

“Ollie?”

Olive glanced up at Enoch from his spot in the corner across from her.

“Thank-you.”

Olive smiled at him, unaware of what he was really thanking her for,  _thank-you for staying with me._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
